


scars

by loonyloopy



Category: The Witcher 2, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyloopy/pseuds/loonyloopy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iorveth wakes up after nearly dying</p>
            </blockquote>





	scars

He couldn’t feel his face. There was hurt and the revolting taste of blood and ash on his lips. Iorveth hadn’t seen his attacker until the last moment and then it was already too late. A sharp pain, which nearly split his skull into pieces. His body was numb at places and badly damaged. He tried to remember how he’d survived, but found his memory lacking. His dreams were full of shadows. This was the third time he’d been awake, maybe the fourth. Someone has changed the gauze on his face, cleaned the wounds and stitched him back together. In a moment of desperate weakness he’d tried to touch his face and found nothing but thick, ailing skin.

Iorveth’s world was dark now. So dark. He’d surely lost his eye, his elder beauty and his pride along with it. Which hurt was worse? It was not his place to decide. Not yet.

Groaning he tried to get up and the world spun and made him dizzy. He hadn’t eaten anything in days, but bile rose in his throat. Iorveth saw a jug, which was probably filled with water, but couldn’t move. This weakness made him angry and Iorveth tried to understand his surroundings. He was in some makeshift hovel, laying on straw and a blanket. Shit. It was awfully quiet, almost serene. Lately the only sounds in his life where screams and the wet noise of tearing flesh. They’d attacked at night. It wasn’t easy slitting a throat without alarming anyone and to wake up in complete silence frightened him.

A spear. Bloody Dh'oine and their fucking weapons. It had cracked and splintered and ripped his face apart. They’d wanted to kill him and present themselves as the heroes that had defeated the famous squirrel leader. His name seemed to travel through the lands now, marking him as a target for every wannabe mercenary and soldier. Fucking fantastic. He was lucky to be alive after the attack. The thought mad him sick, because he’d been an idiot to be caught like that. Where was the rest of his troop?

“Iorveth?” A soft voice and one he didn’t recognize right away. Iorveth saw the outlines of a woman, elf or human? He couldn’t decide.

“Drink this.” Hesitating for a second he realized that after putting putting him back together, poison would be an awful waste of water. Iorveth took small sips. His lips felt dry and cracked and he noticed the smell of herbs, which lulled him into the darkness again.


End file.
